I wish our dog, Buffy, understood the dangers of squirrels. She is a little Shorkie with a big dog complex; it doesn’t matter how big the dog is; she imagines herself bigger. I suppose it’s my fault. I named her after Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It was inevitable that she would possess an unmatched level of bravery. She chases anything she thinks doesn’t belong in our yard: other dogs, ravens, politicians, but mostly squirrels.
Once, when a giant black dog wandered halfway down our long driveway, Buffy didn’t even pause before she transformed into a bullet with teeth on furry little legs. There was no doubt in her mind she was going to rip this trespasser’s throat out.
I remained unconvinced. I yelled in my harshest voice, “Buffy, come here—get back here right now!”
She glanced at me, her hair flying away from her eyes, as if to say, “Don’t worry, Mom, I got this.” She ran even faster toward the hulking canine.
I raced towards both dogs, hoping to stop an impending battle. I yelled again. It was no use; she had completely tuned me out. I sprinted to prevent the slaughter.
Then I stopped. The big dog suddenly dropped his head and turned around, jogging back down the driveway without even uttering a growl. Buffy halted, gave one final bark, and then trotted towards me, her tail high in the air like a flag of conquest. “See. You didn’t need to wake up all the neighbors with your screaming. Sheesh.”Personally, I believe it may have been my screeching that deterred the big dog from eating my little dog, but Buffy would never believe that. She doesn’t listen to me.
Buffy’s favourite pastime is squirrel chasing. She is an exuberant predator, and the squirrels enjoy goading her. The only trouble is, I wish she could understand how dangerous squirrels can be. Like my mom used to say, it’s all fun and games until somebody loses a nose. To deter Buffy from pursuing squirrels, I decided to read her articles of squirrel attacks from various newspapers; I told her in the spring of 2022, in Carleton Place, Ontario, a black squirrel began attacking people, biting, clawing, and chasing. It even knocked over an elderly woman as she defended herself from its attack. Then I read her another story about a small Welsh village, where a little nutjob squirrel attacked eighteen people in a span of two days. This furry little villain kept the local doctor busy with gory scratches and bites for most of those days. Buffy’s confidence hasn’t weakened. Maybe if I show her this video of squirrel attacks, she will understand? https://youtu.be/cKCvbdNHTXQ?si=C87wzp9wHC-q0_vq
It didn’t work. Instead, she added the extra step of sharpening her teeth before her squirrel-chasing activities. Damn the Yorkie part of a Shorkie that doesn’t listen. Any advice?
Daily writing prompt
If you could make your pet understand one thing, what would it be?
In a matter of twenty years, our world has become a digital distraction with a dizzying number of online options. Certain platforms are intentionally designed to be addictive. Although my digital communication style is primarily texting and emailing, in the past, I had completely fell in love with Pinterest and Facebook. I found myself utterly captivated, constantly glancing at pins and tags whenever I had some free time. Eventually, I had to divorce myself from the unhealthy relationship. It took some determination, but I finally broke free of the soul-sucking desire to scroll.
Quite some time has passed; I actually thought myself free of digital influence, but then recently I realized I am completely smitten with YouTube. I am endlessly playing footsies with the bottom comment sections of podcasts and cheating on my actual real life. On YouTube, both intellectuals and idiots flourish on this podcast platform. I blushingly confess I listen to both. This is primarily due to my inability to resist listening to both.
Do you want to know how I became a podcast junkie? It all began with a workout program, and now, two years later, here I am, hiding from my dog in my closet, listening to Mr. Beast. I am weak. And worse yet, I am volatile. When my emotions are stirred and I decide to post in the comment section, a wrestling match between my inner angel and inner demon begins. How shall I respond? Should I spout brimstone and curses or benevolence and understanding? Ultimately, the halo prevails. Likely because of my parents’ ample indoctrination; kindness is paramount. Plus, this idea was also reinforced with a wooden spoon across my butt.
Sigh, enough of this.
Dear YouTube, we need to break up. I need to get a life.
But can I even get a life offline? I need some distance from the wifi. Are any of the remote tribes of South America accepting immigrants from Canada? How about the Amish? Do they have an open immigration policy?
Ahh, don’t worry; I kicked the tech habit once; I can do it again. I’m looking forward to less online time. My dog says, “Ditto.”
What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life? For me, it all depends on the context: are we discussing living for thousands of years like a vampire, or are we discussing downloading a consciousness into an artificial new body, or are we contemplating a normal human life stretched to its limits? It makes a difference; they are all very distinctive states of being.
Firstly, I envision the life of a vampire, living for hundreds or perhaps thousands of years in the darkest corners of the world. Being a vampire, I could travel like the wind, my fear of monsters gone. I’d become popular; cultivating more companions would be as simple as dispensing several affectionate nibbles. Generous victims would provide more than adequate blood and pocket money, and my mood swings would evaporate under the emotionless state of vampire etiquette. Eventually, though, due to the carnage I leave behind, vampire hunters would pursue me. I envision myself chased into hiding, whereupon the heroic hunters ferret out my lair and expose me to full sun. I evaporate; ash in the wind. Not a damn good deed done in my name. No, the vampire life is not for me.
So, the second option of a very long life might be to transfer my consciousness into a lab-grown body or robotic host. Death would become extinct. Granted, it might be exciting for the first few hundred years to do everything I ever wanted to do because I had no time restrictions, but on the other hand, wouldn’t it all become mundane after a few hundred years? Much of our drive and dedication comes from knowing we have a limited amount of time on this glorious planet. And what about people’s ability to have children? Do you think once the planet is infested with billions of artificial immortals that children would even be allowed? Unlikely. Suddenly, this is not my idea of a utopia, this sounds more like a perversion of humanity.
Lastly, I consider the length of a natural human life. As children, it seems long; as adults, it seems short. Our lives are limited by time. We often set a rapid pace, trying to fit in as many things as we can into our day. The older we are, the more precious and valuable our moments become. Many elderly find themselves unwell in heart, body, or mind, yet others find themselves getting along just fine. Aging is an individual process. My husband’s grandma turned one hundred years old last February, and she went skydiving to celebrate. She is doing it again this year. My aunt, who is elderly, swims most mornings, plays bridge twice a week, reads a couple of books a week, sews lap quilts for a charity, has the best sense of humor, and can still weed a garlic patch with the best of them. So, what are my thoughts on the concept of living a very long life? It depends on the individual’s desire. Who am I to say anything else.
Daily writing prompt
What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?
Ever since I realized the general population of my family considered me chubby, I have endeavored to shrink the chub. As a youngster, my dad eagerly supplied me with a plan tailored to my specific talents as a country bumpkin: I cleaned the crap out of barns, coops, and pigpens and also fed the animals by carrying buckets of grain and bales of hay, plus an untold number of pails of water. During the grueling marathon of daily chores, I would grunt and groan in the self-taught language of the pigs. Sometimes I would snort if a forkful of manure turned out to be heavier than assumed. Before long, I realized this wasn’t an enjoyable physical activity at all—I had been put on nature’s vicious treadmill. I fed the animals, they crapped, I cleaned, I fed the animals, they crapped, and on and on… it would never end. I was a slave to the farm animals existence. Stress took hold, and my brownie and cookie intake went way, way up. My dad’s exercise plan failed.
These days, I use a rebounder and hand weights to exercise. However, I don’t engage in both activities together. I’m not exactly graceful. I constantly worry about taking a violent bounce and ending up in the middle of the TV screen or going headfirst into the coffee table; never mind doing it with weights in my hands. Someone is bound to gain a black eye or a broken earlobe. I do, however, accept the risk of simple bouncing; the benefits of using the rebounder are tremendous. It’s great for your lymph nodes, and it strengthens the vagus nerve, which is especially beneficial for mine because it was previously strained from being a slave to animals. Did you know that tight vagus nerve can cause neck pain? I always assumed it was my husband’s fault. Anyway, I digress; I truly enjoy rebounding and if you have any interest in trying too, I would suggest you purchase a quality rebounder. My rebounder cheap and now, after only two months the tags stitched into the bounce pad are beginning to loosen. Oh boy, I just had a demoralizing thought, what if it’s due to excess chub? Well, I suppose I better ask the general population of my family what they think.
Happy exercising, walking, hiking or pedal biking, just do whatever floats your boat.
Daily writing prompt
What are your favorite physical activities or exercises?
The hardest decision I ever made was walking past a bathroom when I had Montezuma’s revenge. I mean, what if the next bathroom was two blocks away? If you’re not familiar, Montezuma’s revenge, refers to a severe form of dysentery that travellers experience when they consume food or drink contaminated by bacteria or viruses they have never encountered before. The unique name, Montezuma’s revenge originates with an Aztec king, Montezuma II, who welcomed the Spaniards into his city as guests and served them food and drink, causing explosive diarrhea, and for some, death. Lucky me, I didn’t die.
Daily writing prompt
What’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make? Why?
If my body did not require sleep, I am one hundred percent sure I would capture a nest of mice and measure up their teeny weeny feet to make them form-fitted Dutch-style clogs. Upon completion, I will set the nest of mice free where my husband is sleeping and wait and see how long it takes before the clog-thumping mice become more rambunctious than his snoring. Once he’s awake and I am thrown out of the house, I will commune with a local bat colony and learn echolocation, enabling me to run through the forest at night without hitting a tree. And that’s just the first night, who needs sleep?
Daily writing prompt
If you didn’t need sleep, what would you do with all the extra time?
Today, while I ponder over the difficult choice of whether I prefer the mountains or the beach, I have safety on my mind. Mountains have forever been a stellar subject for monologues about awe-inspiring beauty, and I agree they are. However, there is a beastly side to the mountain views. First off, narrow ridges and sharp cliffs provide plenty of opportunities to fall and kill oneself. Secondly, the generous nature of loose rocky slopes offer us all the opportunity to be buried free of charge. Thirdly, there are a variety of wild things in the deep, dark forests and inky crevices along the trails, perfectly safe, of course, until they are not. Yet all those little things will not frighten me off; mountains provide far more solace and opportunity for quiet musing than for death-defying walks.
Beaches, ahhh, beloved beaches— aren’t they a delightful oceanside retreat. What could possibly be the downside of such a glorious spectacle except for a tiny tsunami, which could possibly sweep us out to sea? And yet, besides daring to walk beside the largest serial killer in the world, water, we must also consider salt water, the most excellent conductor of electricity. The itty bitty lightening storm dancing in the distance might toast your tootsies too, not to mention, stop your heart. Last but not least, who doesn’t love strolling along the beach picking up seashells? Beware, my fellow crustacean lovers; there might be a poisonous snail living inside that cone shell. This small creature has 30 confirmed kills. But don’t let this stop you from enjoying your favourite sandy haunt; the odds of anything happening are slim.
But seriously, life’s too short to worry; just enjoy it all.
Tiny vibrations of communication travelled through the soil and entered my roots. Instantly, I knew a human had entered our grove—a woman ripe with child and terror. The thrumming energy in her footsteps became more and more intense until finally, I felt her latch onto my stout gray trunk. She tucked herself into my wide girth in an attempt to become invisible. The energetic connections that permeated everything enabled me to discern her condition. She pressed her forehead against my protective bark, her breath warming that spot with hot and ragged air. With our energies combined, I sensed the child inside of her, a light drumming of restlessness and distress fueled by its mother’s frenzy. The tremors of panic that radiated out from the woman were so intense that I swayed with the force of her feelings, and my leaves rustled in the stillness of the day.
I hadn’t seen a human in a long while, never-mind one who was carrying a child. Humanity’s inner blindness, greed, and authoritarian focus on everything outside of themselves had nearly led to humanity’s extinction. The forests survived and thrived. Regrettably, the majority of humans viewed nature as dumb, emotionless, and completely disconnected from them. They saw the trees as useful plunder to be killed and harvested. Humans could not see the forest for the trees. Blind to the fundamental truth that a single tree single tree is interwoven into the existence of all things through the invisible energetic field.
Long ago the entire world, including humans existed within a web of harmonious contentment and love. Oddly, the fruit of a tree broke the human connection to the All. It had been an abnormally cold spring, and the apple blossoms froze; summer delivered scant apples but one. One magnificent, shining red apple. All the people desired that apple. Day by day, as it ripened on the tree, it was clear not everyone would have a taste of apple that year. The people turned away from the abundance they had within the vibrational realm and instead focused on external things. Fear took hold—a fear of missing out, suspicion, and distrust of their kin. Who would receive the apple and who would feel diminished? An empty feeling of scarcity along with a possessive desire grew and ripened in the heart of mankind. Arguments arose over who deserved to eat the bright red apple. They judged each other. Hostility escalated into fights and threats of worse violence. The root cause was fear, the one emotion that disconnects us from each other and the infinite love of the All.
Despite the apple’s innocence, those who consumed it in the darkness of the night experienced an unfamiliar sense of guilt. It was a sad time for the forest, for nature; we missed connecting with our human kin. Now the humans were vibrationally blind, their eyes the only source of sight. Such a shrunken sight. After the people lost connection to the All, their reason for being vanished and a great hole of emptiness ached to be filled. In an attempt to heal, they accumulated things hoping to fill the void. They stopped cooperating and worked against one another, each claiming something or someone to fill the hollowness within. Ah, if only they would have sat in the quietness of our crooning grove. They might have recalled the truth encoded in the vibration of love; a never-ending circle connects us, invisible yet felt.
Ugh, and now, the sticky black emotion of fear and hate that radiated from this woman created such a heaviness within my core. The emotion began to turn the edges of my leaves brown. I reached out vibrationally to my fellow trees for aid in supporting this woman and child with an energetic realignment to ease my burden. As a team, we sent them calming frequencies. Eventually, her breath slowed, and the hate dissipated within the comfort of our silent thrum. The fear remained. Hmph, what to do with this woman who is so bulky with child and full of untethered fright? I turned my attention to my own infected state and concentrated on Mother Earth’s silent yet pattering song. I soon regained my sturdy, energetic self and sent out a question through my roots and into the soil, “Are sources of aggression near?”
Right away, the pulsating biome and water in the dirt replied. “A group of men, heavy and bristling with a craving need.”
Trees seldom moved intentionally. It required a tremendous of energy to shift our dense physical forms without the push of a wind. Yet, this situation required just that. Again I called upon the energies of my forest community for an extra boost; with that surge of power, I was able to drop a thick, sturdy branch down to the woman.
She stumbled back and yelped. The soil and biome beneath her bare feet sent waves of encouragement and implanted an image of her accepting the extended branch and then hiding within the dense leaves in my upper realm. Then the forest chimed in, draping the woman in an energetic blanket of blissful love. The woman grabbed her belly as her baby responded to the bliss, issuing forth a bubbling flow of happy kicks.
The child openly interacted with the energetic field; with the forest. It had not yet been corrupted by its human pack. The woman closed her eyes and yielded to her child’s invisible interaction and then grabbed hold of my outstretched branch. She stepped forward and clutched onto me with a tight grip. With the aid of my kin, I hoisted the woman onto a thick, sturdy limb up into the sanctuary of deepest green. Gratitude trickled forth from the woman, and the child soon napped within the tranquil nest.
In no time at all, to a tree, an eruption of hostile vibration, stomped into the shadow of my form. The men brushed past me; thick, dark energies dampened my golden light of connection. The violence emanating from them was both desperate and loud. The force of it made even the tiniest of my branches tremble, and I felt the woman stiffen.
Being the curious tree that I am, I sought to understand why these men were so intent on this woman, their bodies filled with such anger and panic. I opened to their darkness. Hmmm, it was the child. Every season brought fewer and fewer babies to their tribe, and this year, only one remained in its mother’s womb. Their treasured woman and baby had escaped, and they were desperate to capture her again.
However, the men would not find any trace of the woman in this forest; the soil had shifted away, obscuring any traces of bare feet passing this way. The men raced on, blind to the magnificent energy field all around them. And then they were gone.
My community shivered with excitement; leaves fluttered like hopeful wishes in the air. Such an eventful day. Never has there been a day like this in our woodland. The woman cautiously touched the energy field with her newly found inner senses, and her child smiled. Perhaps this would be a new beginning. Maybe the humans could be taught the ways of a tree, the ways of the earth, the ways of the All. Maybe these two humans will remember beyond the temptation of an apple into something much more.
Melancholy is a common occurrence and perhaps even more common these days. This meandering affliction has flitted in and out of my life in an erratic flow, mostly concealed and locked up tight. And within those months—and even years, I felt utterly exhausted and completely incapable of succeeding at any task. Yet, somehow, I pushed through, numb and only partially engaged. Fat with anxiety. I found myself operating on autopilot, completely unable to plot a course for my future. My lifetime of gaffes and blunders replayed throughout my waking hours on and on like the relentless refrain of an old song stuck in my head.
As I grew older, my list of botches grew longer and longer. And then, when people confided in me with their own troubles, I oddly found myself automatically adding them to my own litany of unravelings or downfalls to solve. At best, this idea seemed absurd, as if I could also resolve their issues? Soon, in any conversation, I found myself begging in a silent voice, “Please don’t ask anything of me with your expectant eyes and anxious energy, for I cannot carry your burden too.” In reality, I’m confident that if they had known my thoughts, they would have assumed I’d lost my ever-loving mind and would have responded, “But I haven’t asked you for a thing.” Deep down, I would know that this is true. However, being raised the middle child in a dysfunctional family, I constantly strived to improve things for everyone else. I felt it was my job. I was forever on guard. As soon as I’d enter a room, I’d read the emotion gathered there; if it proved tense, I’d either try to defuse the bomb before it exploded or run away before it did. Unfortunately, by constantly focusing on others to maintain a smoother path in life for them, I neglected to plan a clear road for myself.
As time went on, what should have been joyful, celebratory events with family and friends turned empty. I acted within the play. Despite the good-humoured grins and laughter that were thrown around like money in a casino, my smiles were consistently hollow, and my laughter was forced—a pittance at the penny slots. My feelings contracted. The space inside my heart reserved for warmth and caring iced over, and in actual fact, the slow pulsing core of my being became more desolate than a prairie field in the depths of winter— icy, rigid, and filled with emptiness.
Those were the darkest of days. Today, the sunlight pours down, creating dancing shadows on the ground. My smile is an expression of my heart, my future unfolds as I choose. This is our one guarantee in life: everything changes. So, if you are feeling that your life is pointless, overwhelming, and beyond repair, believe me when I say it is not. We live in a world of opposites: up/down, rich/poor, cold/hot, happy/sad, and on and on. Nothing is stagnant. All around us, every day, everything transforms, including you.
So, if you find yourself at the bottom of a dark and despairing hole, please remember… The light of spring will come again. The dull, lifeless grass will manifest into an iridescent carpet of emerald green under the warmth of the sun, a kaleidoscope of flowers will bloom, and the gophers in the burrows will foster little ones. A better future is here.
I, for one, believe in you. Perhaps you are wondering, “How can you believe in me?” You don’t even know me, and I reply, “It’s because you are human that I believe in you.I trust in your heart—your love, forgiveness, and kindness. I believe in your creativity, in your tears, and in your future joys. I believe in the contrast in who you are. Even the most evil-minded individual holds the capacity to become giving and loving. We all have the potential to transform and grow.
We falter, we fall, we bleed, we lash out, and we learn. If we can be strong enough to accept our pain without blaming the world or those around us, we grow. Our power lies in the love we give, not in the love we hold in our hearts. Our gifts are the love we offer in a smile, in a letter, in a devil’s food cake. Humans are magical creatures because they possess the ability to overcome. Let us overcome.
Life begins in a womb, or in a room, depending on your view, I suppose. But without a doubt, we all exist as the result of a big bang; the merging of two completely separate things; an egg and a sperm, and then lo and behold, out of this unification pops a brand new energetic being.
Human babies are quite unlike baby lizards, which hatch from an egg and are completely independent at birth, eating ants, flies and small worms. Brand new people are utterly incapable of doing anything except crying, flailing and losing their poop and unfortunately some people will continue this well into adulthood, which isn’t to say those people won’t ever change, because they can. Humans are capable of advancing their position in life through self-determination, unlike a lizard, which will always be a lizard.
I’m not going to lie, it’s a bit unnerving comparing people to lizards, it puts me at risk of having a raging reptile or a pissy progenitor on my doorstep. I’ll put a pee-pad on the landing. Now, back to my weird, and over-simplified comparison, the most obvious difference between a human and a lizard is that people have a desire to determine their own path in life and can actively plan towards attaining that goal. In essence, we try, we fail, we try, we fail, we try, we succeed and we grow—remove the pee-pad. Whereas, lizards simply live in the moment fulfilling their own needs; eating, drinking and fornicating.
Furthermore, as a non-lizard species, we have the unique ability to use introspection to hone our personal progress and develop compassion for our fellow human beings. If we cut beneath the superficial mask we wear for appearances sake, each individual soon comes face to face with their own inner workings, including their deepest fears and most vile inclinations, in doing this time and time again, everyone eventually discovers we are all capable of doing dark deeds in difficult circumstances. This revelation leads us to find empathy for those who struggle. The idea of compassion doesn’t exist for lizards, they simply view the smaller lizards, the less powerful lizards as a source of food to fill an empty need.
The progression of any society is intricately linked to the empathy the people display for their own fellow man. I came across these paragraphs in a book, the words buried themselves inside my heart and mind, irretrievable shrapnel from an explosive idea.
“Hammer cocked, a round in the chamber, finger resting lightly on the trigger, I drew a bead on whoever walked by—women pushing strollers, children, garbage collectors laughing and calling to each other, anyone—and as they passed under my window I sometimes had to bite my lip to keep from laughing in the ecstasy of my power over them, and at their absurd and innocent belief that they were safe. But over time the innocence I laughed at began to irritate me. It was a peculiar kind of irritation. I saw it years later in men I served with, and felt it myself, when unarmed Vietnamese civilians talked back to us while we herded them around. Power can only be enjoyed when it is recognized and feared. Fearlessness in those without power is maddening to those that have it.” .
This Boys Life: By Tobias Wolff
This scenario gnaws at the reality of our time. Do you think the leaders of today promote self-determination, fearlessness in the face of adversity and compassion for others, or do they actively participate in shaming, name-calling and enjoy the predatory feeling of having their finger on the trigger? Will the babies born today be encouraged to live their lives to their highest capacity as a human or will they be limited to the barest minimum like a lizard?
Sharpenedink 